Like most river lowlands, the ground was covered in leaves with a thin layer of dusty river soil, where it had obviously flooded and dried out.

It is that sort of soil and a mix of hardwoods and downed logs which are perfect for finding the fiddleheads.

The ostrich fern is easily identified by photographs and its immature sprout looks just like the end of a fiddle, thus the name.

We took recyclable grocery bags and headed out into the woods and began picking the ferns off at their base.

New Hampshire ostrich ferns can grow to more than five feet tall. They have about five to seven unfurled ferns at their base now, and the best thing to do is to take about two to three of the smallest of the nautilus-like curls, snap them between your thumb and forefinger, and place them in the bag. Leave at least half to grow.

I found it very relaxing to be searching the forest floor for the protruding ferns, uncovering the leaves and picking the nicest of the ferns.

Some places had more than others. I found the sunny spots were not as good because the ferns had taken off. If they have "legs" or fern leaves at the base, they are too old and not as tasty. If they are too small it is hard to wrestle them from the plant.

I found the darker spots, shaded by a downed log or confier, had more ferns. In areas where they were scarce, I just wandered with my bag and looked around.

While searching for the fiddleheads I saw lots of things I don't normally pick up while hiking or moving through a wooded area. There were gorgeous trillium in bloom, bees collecting nectar from violas, I heard a helicopter flying overhead, the sound of a belted Kingfisher and scared a pair of wood ducks.

There were no bugs, no poison ivy, a few ticks, a light breeze and it was warm but not too warm.

I wore LL Bean boots with rubber soles but I didn't need to. It was not wet. I chose long white pants to be able to see if there were any ticks and I had a backpack with a bit of water and a granola bar.

While Dawn and are were collecting the tasty ferns, Mark caught a few fish but none were kept.

My mother grew up in New Brunswick, Canada where fiddleheads are an early spring treat. She cleaned the brown husks off and cut the ends and we blanched them in boiling water for five minutes then tossed them into a skillet with butter, shallots and a touch of salt and red pepper. Delicious!